


San Francisco

by julesbeauchamp



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 60s AU, F/M, One Shot, Outlander - Freeform, San Francisco, jamie x claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesbeauchamp/pseuds/julesbeauchamp
Summary: Claire reflects on her life in California, and her meeting with a certain scot that changed her entire life.





	San Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the song San Francisco by Scott McKenzie which we know from season 4, is Claire's favourite song! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Claire would never tire of the view from her Nob Hill house. The skyline of San Francisco looking like an oil painting, with shades of pink and orange clouds meeting the fading blue sky to create the most beautiful dusk.  _A mackerel sky. Un ciel pommelé_ , as they say in French. No, Claire would never tire of this city. And she had lived here for the past fifty years. Fifty years of laughter.  _Of memories._  Fifty years of love. She attended medical school here. Got married at City Hall. Her children were born at the hospital a few blocks away. Thousands of miles away from her native England.

_It was home. And it would be, forever._

The house she owned now was miles away from her little one bedroom studio she rented in a more than questionable neighbourhood when she first arrived. It was quite the contrast, actually. But one’s gotta start somewhere and she would have never traded it for the world. 

It had been quite the culture shock for the little English girl arriving in California, freshly off the plane from England in 1968.  _Looking for freedom. For love. For herself._ Like so many young people, back then. 

California was the place to be. And so, at eighteen, orphaned since a young age, she packed a few of her belongings, said farewell to her uncle and moved across the Atlantic with only a suitcase  _—_ her trusty companion all those years of travelling with uncle Lambert. 

She had quickly realised she didn’t need many material things to be happy. She simply needed to travel.  _To meet people._  Hopefully, one day, she’d find a place to settle.  _A place to stop and breathe._ To put her suitcase down and finally shove it into a closet  _—_ while her belongings found space on shelves. Where four walls would shelter her from the world. Where she could finally buy a vase and garnish it with fresh flowers. 

Claire still remembered how exhausted she was when the plane landed in Los Angeles. 12 hours of travels, sore legs and jet lagged. She also remembered the rush of happiness taking over her at the first sight of the city. She was here to be part of something bigger than herself. Bigger than anything she’d ever expected.

_The city of angels, they said._

Smiling to herself at the memory, Claire stood by to the bay window, her eyes glued towards the view again. She remembered the price of her bus ride to San Francisco, only 6 dollars. _Six dollars that changed her life forever._

She closed her eyes as the tune on the record player switched to the next one. The first notes she knew by heart. She sang times and times, again, over the years. Each time, the same feeling wrapping itself around her.  _Happiness_.

 _If you’re going to San Francisco_  
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair  
If you’re going to San Francisco  
You’re gonna meet some gentle people there

She didn’t need anything more to be transported back in time. To a certain day of 1968.  _The first day of the rest of her life._

_“Is this seat taken, lass?”_

_The voice was not quite something she would expect to find in Los Angeles. Scottish. Thick. Soft and hard, like a ripe peach. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she realised it belonged to what could have been an 18th-century Highland warrior. Except he was dressed in a loose khaki t-shirt and a pair of denim, distressed at the knees. His hair was curly and mid-length. And the most vivid shade of red she had ever seen. The sight of him alone made her knees wobble and she was glad to be sitting down._

_Blinking, Claire sat up straighter in the seat and smiled, “No, it’s unoccupied. Suit yourself.”_

_“Thank ye,” A smile erupted on his lips before he stored his things on the head compartment._

_Claire turned her attention back to her book, trying to ignore the giant scot sitting down next to her who was trying to find a decent position in the narrow seat._

_“I ken I look ridiculous, Sassenach, ye can say it,” the scot grinned, looking at her._

_“It’s already very uncomfortable for me so I can’t begin to imagine how it must be for you.” She looked at him with a smile. “Also, may I ask what did you just call me?”_

_“Sassenach,” he repeated, his accent making it sound like he had some warm apple pie in his mouth._

_“It means outlander or stranger, nothin’ bad, I promise ye _—_ ”_

_“Well, you’re not exactly quite from here either, if I take your accent in consideration,” she smiled, turning a bit in her seat to be more comfortable._

_“Nay, that much is clear,” The redhead chuckled. “I’m from Scotland. A wee village called Broch Mordha in the Highlands. No verra far from Edinburgh.”_

_“And what is your name then, Scottish lad?” Claire leaned closer to him, curious about the stranger sitting next to her._

_“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” he said solemnly but quickly smiled, “But everyone calls me Jamie.”_

_“I’m Claire.” She responded, holding out her hand to him. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp if we’re going full names.”_

_“Nice to meet ye then, Sassenach,” He smiled again but instead of shaking her hand, he brought it up to his lips to kiss it gently. She felt a slight warmth rising up her cheeks and something inside the pit of her stomach. Something she had never felt up until that day._

_She said nothing. Instead, she smiled again while Jamie started gesticulating in his seat one more time before the bus finally started to drive away towards their destination._

_She turned her focus back towards her book while the scot opened a Ziploc bag of full of almonds. He cleared his throat and presented it to her, “Would ye like some?”_

_“Yes, thank you very much,” her smile stayed unremoved as she took a few almonds from the bag._

_“Ye’re a long way from home too,” he remarked, looking at her._

_“Home is a rather odd concept for me,” Claire ate an almond, her eyes travelling along with the view outside the window._

_“Weel, ye are from England from that posh accent of yers —”_

_Her lip flicked up at his remark, looking at him again, “Posh? I’d say mostly a mixture of many different things. I didn’t spend much time in England during my upbringing.”_

_“I sense a story here,” Jamie ate an almond in turn, tilting his head at her._

_“Nothing too interesting, I’m afraid,” she smirked, turning her body slightly to be face to face with her seat neighbour._

_“We’re in this bus for a few hours, I’m sure yer story is interestin’ enough for ye to tell it to me —”_

_“You seem rather confident about that,” she answered amused. She couldn’t deny how charming he was. And how reassuring she felt in his presence._

_“Go ahead, prove me wrong then,” he winked — blinking both of his eyes at the same time and scrunching his nose. The sight of him altogether was rather funny, yet so sweet. Like a child who had been surprised by a sneeze._

_Claire couldn’t help but let a laugh escape her lips, the sound resonating in the entire bus and managing various “Sssh” from people sitting a few rows behind them. Grinning, she took another almond and started on the story._

_“I was born in Oxford. Ever been?”_

_Jamie shook his head, listening to her, “Canna say I have, no.”_

_“Well, you should, it’s a lovely city. I’m afraid I couldn’t be your guide because I’ve only lived there for the first five years of my life and I don’t remember much of it. I moved away with my uncle who was an archaeologist. We travelled all over the world. Asia, Africa, Russia and so on.”_

_“Wi’ yer uncle?” he frowned, slightly confused._

_Nodding, Claire smiled softly, “My parents’ had a car accident and passed away when I was rather young –”_

_“I’m sorry,” the scot said softly, his smile fading immediately and his hand coming up to rest on hers._

_She touched his arm, smiling in reassurance, “Don’t be, it’s been a while now. I made my peace with it and my uncle took great care of me.”_

_He smiled tenderly, squeezing her hand. “Why San Francisco, then? Have ye been before?”_

_She shook her head of unruly brown curls, “Never, actually. But it seems to be the place where everything is happening at the moment. I was curious and I wanted to see for myself.”_

_“Aye, it seems to be that place,” the scot leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment._

_“Have you ever been?” She asked, in turn, her eyes glued to him. She had remarked how handsome he was upon meeting him but something about the sun reflecting on his mop of red hair took her breath away._

_“Nay, ‘tis my first time as well. I’ve been in Los Angeles for a wee bit and now I’m crossing the bridge to see what else is there to find.”_

_“Why did you leave Scotland?” She asked, hoping her question wasn’t too intrusive._

_“After my brother passed last year, I couldn’t stand being home,” he shrugged, opening his eyes again._

_“It wasna the same back at Lallybroch and I simply had to leave, ye ken? I canna really explain it, I just needed to go,  I was goin’ mental wi’ my own grief. I guess I needed to find freedom and peace. California seems to be the best place to find it.”_

_“Yeah, it seems to be,” she agreed, smiling absently._

_“I havena regretted it just yet,” he said sincerely, looking at her with a smile. Their eyes locking for what seemed like a long moment. The sea met the earth._

_“What are yer plans once ye arrive?” Jamie broke the silence settled between them, his voice soft and tender._

_“I’ll be staying with a good friend of my uncle until I find myself a place to live and then, I don’t know. I don’t have a plan, actually. I’m not the type to think much further into the future. I think it’s a waste of time because it’s unpredictable anyway.”_

_“Ye’re verra wise, Sassenach,” he grinned, neither of them realising they were still holding hands._

_“I wouldn’t call myself wise, no,” she chuckled softly, her thumb slowly stroking his palm._

_“But not thinking about tomorrow is a notion my uncle taught me growing up and I guess it stuck.”_

_“He seems like a fascinatin’ man, yer uncle_

_“Yeah, that he is,” she said fondly._

_“Uncle Lambert the smartest man I’ve ever met. Very flamboyant and witty and I’m very thankful for his education and him letting me be my own person, you know? Actually, after my parents passed I was supposed to go to boarding school but I refused and he didn’t argue it with me because he knew it was pointless. I’m rather strong-minded _—_ ”_

_“I had gathered that,” Jamie chuckled, tilting his head to lock eyes with hers once more. He presented the bag of almond again._

_“I think ye’ll fit well enough here, Sassenach.”_

_“I hope,” she took another one and ate it. “What about your plans, Scottish lad?”_

_“I have no’ plans, either. I came here wi’ my bag and my guitar, I make a wee bit of money for food and a place to sleep and I’m happy wi’ it. I dinna need more.”_

_“You’re a musician,” her whisky eyes lit up at his confession. Full of curiosity and awe._

_“I play music is all,” Jamie smiled, almost shyly. “Nothin’ too grand.”_

_“Do you write your own songs?”_

_“I’ve been tryin’ to, aye. Not verra successfully, I must admit.”_

_“You’re just saying this so I don’t ask you to sing one,” she nudged his arm, grinning._

_“No, ‘tis true,” he laughed. An earthy sound coming from the pit of his stomach. A sound she found to be the most endearing one she had ever heard. One she wanted to bottle up._

_“Well then, write one now,” she stated, her smile growing at his panicked expression._

_“I canna.” He shook his head._

_“We have a good few hours on this bus, you said it yourself. Come on!” She pouted like the five years old she used to be. Something that seemed to work on the scot._

_“Fine! But I have one condition _—_ ”_

_“Anything you want,” she said softly, resting her head in her palm._

_“You’ll help me and sing it while I write it…”_

_She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m actually very tone deaf so that’s not a great idea from your part, Jamie.”_

_“Och, then give me the first line,” Jamie opened his bag and got out a pencil alongside a battered black notebook. He handed them both to her._

_“Only the first?” Claire asked, taking them._

_Nodding, the redhead got up and grabbed his guitar from the head compartment before sitting down again._

_Claire smirked, watching him and couldn’t help but bite on the end of the pencil. “Do you have a melody for me, at least?”_

_“Nay, not until ye give me a first line, Sassenach.” He smirked, watching her._

_She thought for a second, closing her eyes for concentration. Not only she couldn’t sing, apparently, but she also couldn’t come up with anything good enough to start a song._

_“It’s actually more difficult than I thought it would be,” she chuckled softly, eyes still closed._

_“Come on, I believe in ye,” Jamie sat down again, making sure his guitar wasn’t in the way. She could feel his eyes on her and realised she craved the feeling it brought her. Something odd, like anything she had ever experienced before. They had met maybe thirty minutes ago and it seemed she had known this man all her life._

_“Okay, I think I got something,” her eyes opened to meet with his._

_“I’m listenin’,” the scot’s smug smile gave her a want to kiss it off her face immediately but she refrained herself to do so. Instead, she cleared her throat, feeling nervous, all of a sudden._

_“If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…” Claire sang softly, her voice only loud enough for him to hear._

_“If you’re going to San Francisco, you’re gonna meet some gentle people there,’ Jamie continued, starting to play a melody on his guitar. A smile growing on his face._

_She noted the lyrics into his notebook, listening to the soft sound of his instrument. His fingers gently playing a catchy tune to go along the lyrics she had thought out._

“ _Keep goin’, Sassenach,” he asked gently, smiling wider._

_Shaking her head, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Letting the guitar soothe her, she smiled, “No, you keep going.”_

_The scot chuckled again, still playing and started to sing the lyrics coming to him naturally, almost as if he had them all already in his head. He had a strong, yet soft voice. Warm and husky. Almost like honey._

_For those who come to San Francisco_  
Summertime will be a love-in there  
In the streets of San Francisco  
Gentle people with flowers in their hair  


_Claire started to clap her hands, moving her head to the music as he sang. His smile growing broader at the sight, he continued:_  
__  
All across the nation  
_Such a strange vibration_  
_People in motion_  
_There’s a whole generation_  
_With a new explanation_  
_People in motion  
_ _People in motion_

_It didn’t take very long for the entire bus to start clapping along, making the Englishwoman look at the scot with sparkling eyes and awe. The song catchy, as everyone sang it together._

_For those who come to San Francisco_  
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair  
If you come to San Francisco  
Summertime will be a love-in there

_As he sang, Jamie’s cheeks were turning crimson. Yet, his eyes were firmly locked with hers. And she drowned into their blue colour _ _—__ reminiscent of the ocean. Along with him, she sang the last notes. Their voices merging into one._

_If you come to San Francisco  
Summertime will be a love-in there_

_What was meant to be a long journey towards San Francisco turned out to pass too quickly _ _— t__ ime evaporating like drops of water in the desert. A journey where two strangers became friends. And something else, something more. Sharing memories and talking about future ones to make. Two strangers who never wanted to part. But once they arrived into the Golden City, their ways divided, much to both their despair. _

Claire hummed the song, eyes still closed and smiled still formed on her lips. She still couldn’t explain the feeling this song had on her. As if the melody made her heart grown twice its size by simply listening to it. Jamie’s voice able to soothe any worry, any pain she had. 

She felt two strong arms wrap around herself and her smile grew wider. A feeling of safety enclosing her. Wrapping itself around her like the fog over the Golden Gate Bridge. 

“Listenin’ to this song again, Sassenach?” Her husband whispered, placing a kiss on the back of her neck before he rested his chin on her shoulder

“Always,” she leaned back against him, stroking his arm. “You know it’s my favourite song.”

Jamie smiled, holding her tightly, “It seems like I wrote it only yesterday and yet  _ _—__ ”

 “Yet, it’s been fifty years ago,” Claire added, opening her eyes to look at him with a grin. “Can you believe how old we’re getting, Fraser?” 

“I’m gettin’ old, ye look just as beautiful than the day I met ye,” Jamie whispered, slowly turning her around. He cupped her cheek, stroking her bottom lip with the base of his thumb.

“Maybe even more so because the lines on her face come from laughter and smiles. From all the years we’ve spent together.” He kissed her softly, his lips tasting faintly of the whisky he had just tasted. 

“This one, for example,” he stroked a line near her mouth. “‘Tis from when the children made ye smile over the years  _ _—__ ” 

“And those…” He continued softly, touching her crow’s feet wrinkles. “Those are all the time ye laughed at somethin’ stupid I did or say.”

“Are you calling me old?” Her eyebrows raised in question, her lip flicking up into a slight grin. 

“Nay,” he smiled mischievously, kissing the tip of her nose. “To me, ye’re still the lass I met on the bus to San Francisco all those years ago. Who wore a linen white dress and whose curls were the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. The lass that took my breath away and ate all the almonds I had.”

“If I recall correctly, you offered them to me,” Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her nose against his. 

“My memory is failing me,” he whispered against her lips, grinning. 

“Sure,” she chuckled, sealing their lips for a long moment. 

Claire felt his arms tightening around her waist, pulling her closer to him in a warm and reassuring embrace. Marrying Jamie had been the best decision of her life. A life she would have never suspected to turn out this way when she first arrived in San Francisco. 

“I’m glad I’ve bumped into you again a few weeks after that bus ride,” she held him close, resting her head on his chest. 

“Me too, Sassenach,” Jamie said softly, placing a kiss on the top of her head. 

“I had been thinkin’ about ye all this time, prayin’ I’d see ye again. I guess you and me we were meant to be all along,  _a nighean_.”

Claire looked up at him, smiling tenderly. “It was, my darling.” 

“I didn’t know why I needed to leave for San Francisco so badly but I knew I’d find something here. Purpose and a home,” she stroked his cheek, looking into his eyes.

“And that’s exactly what I found.” 

“We made a good life here,” he smiled, stroking a grey curl away from her face. 

Nodding, she closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. “That we did, my love.”

“Tha gaol agam ort,” He whispered against her head, stroking her silver locks back.

“And I love you, my Scottish lad  _ _—__ ”

“I’ve got a wee somethin’ for ye,” Her husband looked at her but before Claire had time to ask any question, a  _forget-me-not_  appeared between his fingers and Jamie delicately put it into her hair. “Ye ken the rule, Sassenach. If ye’re goin’ to San Francisco…”

“Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair,” she finished, resting her forehead against his. Together, they danced slowly on the music. Basking into the memories of all those years spent together. And to the ones they had yet to create with their family. 


End file.
